


"Like You"

by johnlocked_221B



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sherlock, Happy Ending, Hurt Sherlock, John Being an Asshole, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Sherlock, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9823985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlocked_221B/pseuds/johnlocked_221B
Summary: There were small ticks in Rosie's personality that could only be explained to be a 'Sherlock' action. Of course, Sherlock was as close to Rosie as a second parent, but John did not want his child to grow up to be like Sherlock. He wanted to have a patient child, one who had no trouble showing emotions and happiness, and didn't seclude herself into a 'mind palace' three times a day.One day it all gets too much, and John breaks, along with what's left of Sherlock's heart. Angst with fluff at the end.





	

 John looked over his shoulder from where he was making himself some toast. He could see his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, in his navy dressing gown, sitting next to his six year old daughter, Rosie Watson. They were both watching TV, a program Rosie had chosen where a man showed the views how to do arts and crafts, which looked to him to be quite funny. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, his legs up so that his feet were on the sofa, and his arms folded on top of them. John let out a small chuckle when he realised that Rosie was sitting in the exact same way, the only difference being that her arms weren't folded, but were laid out in front of her instead.

As John ate his toast, he watched the two of them silently. Before taking his last mouthful, Rosie spoke.

"This program's boring!" She moaned, and frowned. John froze. She reminded him so much of Sherlock, that it was uncanny. Obviously, as she had grown up under the influence of the detective, she was going to gain some of his traits and personality, as he was almost like a second parent to her. It was scary though. Maybe it was only because it was from his own eyes, but he had never seen Rosie do something which screamed his name from her actions- there wasn't anything that she did that showed that she was his daughter.

Maybe he was just slightly jealous of the way she seemed to adore Sherlock. 'Makes two of us then' he thought ruefully to himself, and sighed internally. His days of denial were long gone, as by now he had learnt just to admit to himself that he was in love with Sherlock. To begin with, after Mary's death, he had felt so alone that he couldn't ever imagine loving anybody again, but then he had moved back in with Sherlock and his world had changed once more. It was a wonder that Sherlock hadn't called him out on it already, being as clever as he was. It must be because he didn't do emotions, that he wasn't able to deduce John Watson. Or perhaps he already had figured it out, and wasn't saying it because he didn't want anything to get awkward between them.

John looked back over at the two people he loved most. A thought crossed his mind. What if Rosie grew up to be exactly like Sherlock? What if when she grew up, she would be completely emotionless, never talking to and detesting her family like Sherlock did? It sounded terrible, and a flash of protectiveness came over him, that made him want to go and take Rosie away by herself and stop Sherlock from influencing her personality.

'That's idiotic,' he thought to himself. 'Completely idiotic- she'll grow up under both of our influences, and become a beautiful person. I'm just jealous that somebody else has Sherlock's attention for once.'

 

***

 

Over the next few weeks, things didn't get better for John. The next Tuesday, she point blank refused to go outside with him on a walk when she was reading the newspaper instead. On Friday, she refused to eat tea because 'she wasn't hungry'. But it wasn't until he was turned down by his own child when he offered to read her a bedtime story, who instead turned away and opened her 200 page novel Sherlock had given her, that he finally snapped. He walked back downstairs in a huff, finding himself more annoyed when he saw Sherlock easily sat down on a chair, hands under his chin.

"Sherlock." He grunted, trying to get the other's attention. He didn't move, too engrossed in his own mind John supposed. "SHERLOCK"

The green-blue eyes opened with a start, and he looked across at John. "You're angry." He noted, which somehow didn't help John's mood.

"Yes. I am." He told the other. Sherlock studied him for a second, before opening his mouth to speak again, his voice low and laced with tiredness.

"Okay, that's not good. Did I do something?" He asked, his eyes narrowing. "I don't remember doing anything bad, unless it was the fingers in the bottom drawer of the freezer which have annoyed you-"

"Which fingers?" John asked, brows furrowing even further. Sherlock blanked.

"Alright, it wasn't that then. Be careful if you see them in the future, they'll be gone by Tuesday, I'm using them tomorrow in an experi-" He continued, speaking quickly and without looking at John's face as it grew ever more annoyed.

"Sherlock!" He shouted, loudly, which finally shut the other man up.

"What... did I do?" He asked, quieter this time.

"You didn't- well, you have done it, but it's not intentional really." John replied back, cheeks heating up as he realised that he must be sounding very petty to the other male. Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion, not knowing what John was getting at. "It's just, well it sounds stupid now, but I went upstairs and Rosie didn't want me to read her a bedtime story, she was reading a bigger book."

"Oh, that book. I gave that to her, it's quite-" Sherlock started, before once again being cut off by John.

"I KNO-" He shouted, before taking a deep breath and starting again. "I know you gave her that book, Sherlock."

"Then what's the problem?" The detective asked, not liking not knowing what was going on. "Do... do you not like the story?"

John let out a mirthless laugh. "No, Sherlock, it's not that."

"Then... what's wrong with it?" Sherlock asked again, confusion now very evident on his face. John somehow managed to let this affect him even more. Of course the clever Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be able to realise what was up, as he was never able to read John's emotions. Stupid, oblivious Sherlock.

"It's not just that. Everything recently in her behaviour, Sherlock, had been a reflection of you." He sighed, deciding to just get it all out.

"Are you... jealous?"

"NO SHERLOCK!" John shouted, frustration skyrocketing. "I'M NOT JEALOUS, I'M WORRIED!"

Sherlock's face was still as blank as ever. "About what? If she's growing up with some of my habits, it can't be a bad thing! She'll actually be clever, for one-"

"DO YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT HER HAVING GOOD BRAINS?" John screamed, his arms flying around his head. He took a moment to breath, and Sherlock had thankfully decided not to speak for once. "The thing is, I'm worried that she'll grow up in the wrong way. I'm worried that by the time she's twenty, she won't know what emotions are, and that she'll just seem to be blank. I'm worried that when she's older, she won't care enough about anybody to want to come and see me again, or that she'll never marry, I'll never have grandchildren!" 

"John, I'm not-" Sherlock tried, but was cut off by John's angry face once again.

"PLEASE don't try to tell me that you're not emotionless, Sherlock. Because we both know it! You don't feel anything like love, or show any compassion, and that's NOT A GOOD THING! And I don't want MY ROSIE to grow up like that, because Sherlock- YOU'RE NOT EVEN HER FATHER!" John continued, not looking at Sherlock. If he had done, he would've seen Sherlock's face with more emotion on than he had seen ever before- because Sherlock looked both frightened, and very hurt at once. "And I don't- I DON'T WANT ROSIE TO GROW UP TO BE A SOCIOPATH WHO DOESN'T CARE FOR ANYBODY BUT HERSELF, I JUST- I DON'T WANT HER TO BE LIKE YOU!"

John chose this moment to look at his flatmates face, and he immediately wished he hadn't. Sherlock looked as sad as he ever had done, and John felt the anger disappear from himself, instead feeling dread and immediate regret. Then Sherlock's face changed, and John didn't know what was worse- the broken face, or the completely blank, emotionless face he wore now. He couldn't move as Sherlock stood up, moving towards the door. John tried to speak.

"Sherlock, I didn't mean-" He tried.

"It's okay, John" Sherlock said, monotonously, as he opened the door and left, no destination in his mind, but just to get away. Like John must want him to do.

 

***

 

It had been lucky, really, that Greg Lestrade had been looking out of his taxi window, actually taking in the surroundings rather than staring aimlessly at the sky like he usually did. He'd had a very tiring day at Scotland Yard, what with their being a murderer loose in London, and the police force having nothing to go by, or tell the public to be wary about. And, like every time, he was the one who got the sole blame, and bad publicity. After a late press conference, which helped nobody, he had finally been able to go home, and was passing through London on a cold, wet night at 9:00. After staring at the few people outside at this time, he was shocked to see he recognised one lone person standing on the bridge.

Sherlock. From far away, Greg could tell that something wasn't right, as for one he had no coat or scarf on- only his black suit. It was freezing at this time in winter, and he was sure that Sherlock seemed to be shaking, whether from the cold or something else. He told the driver quickly and loudly that he needed to stop, and before the car even fully came to a stop, he was opening the door and rushing out. When he got close to Sherlock, his worried worsened. He was deathly pale, except for his eyes, which were red and blotchy. Was that from the cold, or had Sherlock Holmes been crying?

"Woah, mate, what are you doing out here?" He asked once he was close enough for Sherlock to see him. Something ran through Sherlock's eyes as he looked at the police man, and he backed away, closer to the bridge railing. "Okay then, you out here for a reason, because it's bloody cold and you look freezing!" He reasoned.

Once again, Sherlock gave no answer, but averted his eyes to the floor. Not being a complete fool, Greg knew that his jacket looked drenched, which meant that he'd been outside for a little while, and that was not healthy- especially not for someone like Sherlock. Something was wrong, and he'd be damned if he didn't try to help the man who always seemed to help him out with work.

"Mate, we're gonna need to get you warm." He explained, and when Sherlock made no effort to move, he grabbed the taller man around his shoulders and tried to guide him towards the waiting taxi. Thank God the taxi driver had some decency and hadn't driven off after a few minutes. Sherlock stiffened at first, but let Greg lead him to the taxi, where he got in and sat rigidly, hand on his thighs and face blank in front of him. Greg didn't know what to do, or say.

"Okay, do you want me to bring you back to 221B?" He asked, but immediately Sherlock stiffened and a look of wild fear went through him. "Alright, no, we won't do that, don't worry. How about we go to my place, then you can get warm and stay in the spare bedroom if you need to?"

Sherlock relaxing was evidently enough of a confirmation to Greg, who told the drier to continue to the original address, and apologised profusely to him. He was kind enough to pretend that he didn't mind, which Greg appreciated. After a short while longer, they were nearing Lestrade's house, and the two of them got out of the taxi. Leaving a generous tip, Greg undid his door and they entered the house. The first thing Greg did was direct Sherlock upstairs, until he was in the bathroom, and told him to have a warm shower. Sherlock obeyed wordlessly, and whilst he was showering, the other man found his smallest clothes that he could, before hopping downstairs to make a cup of tea and get something warm to eat.

Sherlock took a long while in the shower, which was unusual behaviour for him. Finally coming down, Greg thought he looked thoroughly depressed, and wondered what could have caused this mood. However, if there was one thing you learnt about Sherlock Holmes it was that he didn't talk to anybody about his own emotions, so Greg thought it best not to ask. Instead, he passed the plate of food and mug of tea to him, where Sherlock took small sips of the liquid and moved the food about on his plate with his own fork.

After fifteen minutes of awkward sitting in silence, Lestrade broke it. "Do you want me to text John or anybody?" Sherlock immediately shook his head with such ferocity that his tea tipped slightly and nearly spilt. "Well, um, then I'll go upstairs and make sure the rooms ready for you, I don't want you to leave by yourself with how cold you just got." He awkwardly explained, before bolting upstairs. Who could deal with Sherlock in normal circumstances, yet alone when he was as sad and reclusive as he was now?

After he came down and saw that Sherlock had finished his tea (hardly touching his food however), he realised that the man needed some time alone, or to sleep it off. Deciding to try to talk the next day, he showed Sherlock where the room was, and where spare pyjamas were if he would want them. About to close the door and leave himself, he was stopped when Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"Do you think that I am an emotionless monster?" He timidly asked, looking at the wall. Greg immediately was filled with dread and compassion, because something had happened to Sherlock. He never seemed to care about what others thought of him, and would never voice it if he did.

"No, of course you aren't!" Greg protested, but his only reply was Sherlock rolling over and switching the lamp off, filling the room with darkness.

 

***

 

To John, the next two days felt like hell. He was sick with worry, and was minutes away from actually texting Mycroft to ask for advice when his phone chimed. He sighed when he saw that it wasn't from Sherlock, but instead was from Greg.

_Hey mate. Sherlock told me not to contact anybody, but he's here at my place and hasn't eaten anything, let alone spoken to me the whole time he's been here. I can't do anything, and you are probably the only person who could do- Greg_

John was so pleased to hear that Sherlock was safe with somebody that he almost didn't register that he was being asked to go over to see him. Then it hit him. Greg thought that he was the only person who could help Sherlock, which meant that something was definitely wrong. However, he felt sure that Greg didn't know what he'd said to the other man too, else he wouldn't be asking him so readily to go and help Sherlock. John had really been eating himself up over everything, as he knew he deserved to be, not getting any sleep and barely talking to anybody. As he was getting his coat and shoes on, Rosie walked up to him.

"Where are you going, Dad?" She asked him, yawning.

"Out. I'm going to see Sherlock." He absentmindedly told her, focusing on getting ready instead.

"Oh. I thought you two weren't friends anymore." She replied. John blanked. "Cause I heard you shouting that night, when I couldn't sleep, and then Sherlock's not been here since!"

"Uh. Well, I said some stupid things that I shouldn't have said to him, Rosie. And I'm going to try to get him to come back to our house, ok?" He asked her, and she nodded, thinking.

"Daddy?" She asked, and John said yes back to her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can." John replied, still not fully giving his daughter his attention. He supposed she would have to stay with Mrs Hudson, if she was in her flat.

"Are you and Sherlock like Arwen and Aragorn?" She asked, and John's brows furrowed. What was she on about? "They're in the books Sherlock and me were reading, The Lord of the Rings, and Arwen and Aragorn get married and are in love. Are you and Sherlock married?"

John stopped dead. How he would like to be able to tell her yes, to be able to say that he and Sherlock loved each other like the characters from fantasy novels. But he and Sherlock were in the opposite situation today. If he couldn't get Sherlock back, then he may not see him much more at all after this evening.

"Well, not really Rosie. We're not married, no, not really like them. But if you want him to be your papa, then he can be to you." He explained, trying not to show his sad face to his daughter.

"Do you want to marry him then, Daddy?" She innocently asked, and John couldn't stop the ironic laugh that left his mouth. There were certain things that children just saw, and this must be one of them.

"I, well, I guess I would probably want to, I suppose," He replied. "But you both have to love the other, and sometimes that doesn't happen with two people. Sometimes it's only one person who loves the other person, and then they can't really get married."

"Oh, ok. I think it would be nice if you and Sherlock made yourselves be in love and then got married, because Sherlock is really nice and I think he would be a nice Papa too!" She brightly chirped, and John's eyes welled up. It would be nice, yes, if it was only that easy.

"Let's get you to Mrs Hudson, eh?" He chided her, and they both went down the stairs together.

 

***

 

His cab pulled up outside Greg's house before he knew it. Walking up to the door, his worries began to rise. He had no idea what he was going to say to Sherlock once he got up there. 'Sorry I told you that you had no emotions, but I'm in love with you! Surprise!' He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and knocked on the door. After half a minute, Greg was opening the door to him, and inviting him in. He greeted him with a hug, patting his shoulder as he did so.

"Blimey mate, you don't half look bad too!" He noted, looking at John's tired faced and slumped posture. "I'd have texted earlier if I'd known you were this worried about him."

John nodded slightly, and accepted his apology, before Greg showed him upstairs to where Sherlock was staying. Before he opened the door, he turned to John.

"I'm gonna pop out to the shops, give you some space with him, but if anything happens to either of you, text me immediately, right?" He asked, and John nodded once again. He was very grateful to how Greg was treating the business, letting them have their own space, even though this was his own house. Deciding just to face his fear, John turned the handle of the door, and walked in.

As he entered, he saw Sherlock lying on his back on the bed. Once the taller man met his eyes, he shot up, standing up straight against the bed, keeping them close, but not too near to each other. John could see a mix of emotions in Sherlock's eyes- sadness, fear, rage, to name a few.

"Get out." He blanked, looking John straight in the eyes.

"Please, I-" John tried, but was cut off by the monotonous, low voice once again.

"Get out." Sherlock said, through gritted teeth. John paled. This was worse than he had imagined, not that he'd had particularly high hopes anyway.

"Sherlock please, just let me explain myself!" John pleaded, but the expression on Sherlock's face didn't change.

"I know what you think of me. I understand if you don't want to see me again." Said Sherlock, breaking his eye contact and looking at nothing in particular on the floor.

"I would never want that, else why would i have come to see you here?" John asked, and Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, looking back up at John again.

"You seemed to want me to leave the other night."

"I didn't mean what I said then! None of what I said was true." The blogger replied back, telling the truth. Sherlock furrowed his brow, confused and not accepting John's words.

"Then why would you say it? Of course you meant it, John, I'm not stupid."

"I said it because i overreacted to everything, and really i was just..." John tailed off, realising that he was about to tell Sherlock that he was jealous. His face reddened slightly.

"Just what?" Sherlock queried, turning his head to the right slightly.

"I guess I was a little bit jealous." John mumbled. Both of the men paused, neither saying anything for a good few seconds.

"Jealous of what? Rosie having some of my qualities?" The taller man asked, trying to work out what John was on about. He was never usually this hard to read.

"Not really- well a little bit, but not just about that."

"Then what?" Sherlock inquired. John took a breath, deciding that this would have to be his only chance.

"I guess I was a bit jealous of her getting so much of your attention." John mumbled, breaking eye contact once again.

Sherlock was speechless for a minute. "Of... of my attention? You were jealous because I took time to be with your child?"

"It sounds really stupid out loud." John admitted.

"Well..." Sherlock said. They both paused for a minute, before Sherlock remembered why they were both there. "It still doesn't make a difference, you still don't want her to grow up to be me. And I guess I can leave, get my stuff so she isn't-"

"I don't want you to leave, God no Sherlock!" John almost laughed.

"But, you said you didn't want- it sounded like you hated me!"

"Sherlock," John said, quietly. "I could never hate you." Sherlock paused for even longer this time, taking in this piece of information. It contradicted what he was told by John only the other night.

"Er, well thank you john, I guess-"

"I love you sherlock, ok?" The room fell into a deafening silence. John refused to meet Sherlock's eyes, and was immediately speaking again, unable to stop himself now that he had started. "That's why I was jealous, why I flipped out about the smallest thing, but it's fine. I know you don't do that kind of stuff, so we can put it behind us, ignore-"

"I'm not." Sherlock interrupted, quietly and without giving away anything about how he was reacting. It was John's turn to be confused.

"Not what?" He asked.

"Not emotionless like you said I was, John. I thought I was being obvious." Sherlock admitted.

"Obvious about what?"

"The fact that I've loved you since the first year we moved in. I thought you would've caught on by now." He told him, voice as even as ever, and John paused. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, and saw complete sincerity, as he tried to process what he'd just been told. His breathing hitched.

"You love me?" He asked Sherlock, just to make sure that he hadn't misheard him.

"That was what I just said, yes John." Sherlock replied. John's mouth turned upwards, his heart fluttering.

"Can I kiss you?"

"God yes!"

 

***

 

"-and Mrs Hartstone didn't believe me when I told her I had read The Hobbit, and then I told her I read it with you, Papa!" Rosie babbled, skipping and swinging her arm in her Papa's hand to keep up with him. Sherlock was doing the school run this time round, picking up Rosie and taking her back to 221B where the two of them and Rosie's Dad lived. Sherlock smiled at her, and they talked about her day until they reached their flat. Soon, they were up the stairs and had entered it, where Rosie ran over and jumped on John.

After another retelling of everything that happened that day, Rosie ran upstairs to go and get changed, whilst John went to see what Sherlock was doing in the kitchen. As he saw him leaning over the kettle, he moved behind him and hugged him. Sherlock relaxed into it, before turning around to face John, the golden band on his finger shining in the light. Leaning down, he pecked John's lips lightly, both of them smiling at each other.

221B wasn't exactly the same and back to normal, but oh, wouldn't normalness be boring!


End file.
